some thoughts and quotes while on med-evac in DC...

so yes, i am officially medically evacuated. and the livin's pretty good, but the health is not totally cleared yet. so, con tiempo... BUT i should be here for the inauguration, and possibly return to honduras or at least continue with my service in another (hopefully spanish-speaking!) country. con tiempo.

i havent had a chance to take beautiful pics of DC but, good god, it's actually a great city. not that i've explored a whole lot, but i got the whole HIJKLM streets and pennsylvania avenue etc. down so that's cool. and dad's coming tomorrow so we'll be able to go to some museums after some more tests and doctors appts. and i get to go home for the holidays. and seeing doc's that speak my native tongue has made the whole process a whole lot easier. i won't go into detail, as the details are a bit.. well.. let's just say there's better things to write. like, things i've been reading.

"our world can be transformed into a world in which the creative spirit is alive, in which life is an adventure full of hope and joy, based rather upon the impulse to construct than upon the desire to retain what we possess or to seize what is possessed by others. meantime, the world in which we exist has other aims. but it will pass away, burned up in the fire of its own hot passions; and from its ashes will spring a new and younger world, full of fresh hope, with the light of morning in its eyes." bertrand russell (thanks, jim.)

a few by

EZRA POUND.

xenia
(foriegn, abroad.)
"And
Unto thine eyes my heart
Sendeth old dreams of the spring-time,
Yea of wood-ways my rime
Found thee and flowers in and of all streams
That sang low burthen, and of roses,
That lost their dew-bowed petals for the dreams
We scattered o'er them passing by."

From Alba Belingalis
(Bilingual Morning)
"ARISE."

Plotinus
"As one that would draw through the node of things,
Back sweeping to the vortex of the cone,
Cloistered about with memories, alone
In chaos, while the waiting silence sings:

Obliviate of cycles' wanderings
I was an atom on creation's throne
And knew all nothing my unconquered own.
God! Should I be the hand upon the strings?!

But I was lonely as a lonely child.
I cried amid the void and heard no cry,
And then for utter loneliness, made I
New thoughts as crescent images of me.
And with them was my essence reconciled
While fear went forth from mine eternity."

An Immortality

"Sing we for love and idleness,
Naught else is worth the having,

Though I have been in many a land,
There is naught else in living.

And I would rather have my sweet,
Though rose-leaves die of grieving,

Than do high deeds in Hungary
To pass all men's believing."

Taking Leave of a Friend
"Blue mountains to the north of the walls,
While river winding about them;
Here we must make separation
And go out through a thousand miles of dead grass.
Mind like a floating white cloud.
Sunset like the parting of old acquaintances
Who bow over their clasped hands at a distance.
Our horse neigh to each other
As we are departing."

From The Tao Te Ching (Lao Tzu):

"Always without desire we must be found
If it's deep mystery we would sound;
But if desire always within us be,
Its outer fringe is all that we shall see."

"The government that seems the most unwise
Oft goodness to the people best supplies;
That which is meddling, touching everything,
Will work but ill, and disappointment bring."

"(Its) admirable words can purchase honour;
(its) admirable deeds can raise their performer above others.
Even those who are not good are not abandoned by it."

"To act without thinking of acting; to conduct affairs without feeling the trouble of them;
to taste without discerning any flavour; to consider what is small as great,
and a few as many; and to recompensate injury with kindness."

"They should think their (coarse) food sweet;
their (plain) clothes beautiful;
their (poor) dwellings places of rest;
and their common (simple) ways
sources of enjoyment."

"There is nothing beyond what is here said."

"A man there was, though some did count him mad,
The more he gave away, the more he had."

Poesia
escrito por Pablo Neruda (Gracias, Clint.)

Y fue a esa edad... Llegó la poesía
a buscarme. No sé, no sé de dónde
salió, de invierno o río.
No sé cómo ni cuándo,
no, no eran voces, no eran
palabras, ni silencio,
pero desde una calle me llamaba,
desde las ramas de la noche,
de pronto entre los otros,
entre fuegos violentos
o regresando solo,
allí estaba sin rostro
y me tocaba.


Yo no sabía qué decir, mi boca
no sabía
nombrar,
mis ojos eran ciegos,
y algo golpeaba en mi alma,
fiebre o alas perdidas,
y me fui haciendo solo,
descifrando
aquella quemadura,
y escribí la primera línea vaga,
vaga, sin cuerpo, pura
tontería,
pura sabiduría
del que no sabe nada,
y vi de pronto
el cielo
desgranado
y abierto,
planetas,
plantaciones palpitantes,
la sombra perforada,
acribillada
por flechas, fuego y flores,
la noche arrolladora, el universo.


Y yo, mínimo ser,
ebrio del gran vacío
constelado,
a semejanza, a imagen
del misterio,
me sentí parte pura
del abismo,
rodé con las estrellas,
mi corazón se desató en el viento.

La vida no es sino una continua sucesión de oportunidades para sobrevivir.
Gabriel García Márquez

A LO DICHO, DICHO; Y A LO HECHO, PECHO.

by my sister, hilary ragin:
"and in this picture we're placed at the edge of things,
drinking in the salty perimeter thats lapping about our knees
a figure firmly fingers its way through the breeze
where your lips turn to meet it and i sip at those sweets.

and in our distance, we're placed at the lease of being,
in pictures framed with borders made from poplar.
and the smell of a buck on my hands mixes with the beans on your plate
heavy in our stomachs, where you'll feed and i'll rock her.

and in your belly is placed the thing that will forever carry on our living
framed with the face of a man at the back of our hands
and there's no telling where she's heading,
but i conclude from the candle held up to your belly that
the lady is lucid for her little eyes are swelling.

and had i opened my mouth as you turned toward the south
maybe you'd have been a goner.
but the word it is out in the streets that
you're speaking with beats that are blowin the lights out.

and i have for you, when you return,
a jar of honey, and milk that won't sour.
and they're drenched in the musk, a lava sky at dusk,
but mostly these little flowers,
whose purple-ringed cups tickle the tops of my toes
and they smell like the winter.

jerking the rope is a beast--the knee-high lady would say, "how come its eyes are all sideways?"
but her little bell claims all the qualities of a a name
and she will feed us for several more seasons.

and when the time comes next year to
name the kids in spring, let's name them after church
deacons,
or the farmers down the river who are growing the winter squashes,
or, better yet, let's name them after potatoes
and leeks and sorts of garlics throughout the brown fall,
and we'll swear that we won't eat them come winter."